


Bodystudy.txt

by bexacaust



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:11:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just descriptive writing about various characters used to sort appearance headcanons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cronus Ampora

He moved strangely, in private. More fluid, and smooth. Eyes glanced over broad shoulders and chest, down to a firm waist and long legs. You could see the years of swimming and underwater scuffles on him, even though he wore jeans unbuttoned at the moment.

You knew he had a few scars on his left thigh and right calf from a tangle with a stinging creature once upon a time. Eyes flicked back up, realizing he was drinking something; “coffee” maybe? His throat moved.

His neck was so… lurid? Lurid was a way to put it. Tiny violet lines just under his earfins that you still weren’t sure if they were gills or if they were the fronds you’d read about certain water-creatures having to test the safety of the water.

You chuckled inwardly; any water Cronus was swimming in wasn’t safe no doubt.

He yawned, showing the rows of sharp and shark-like teeth in his mouth. He blinked violet eyes, stretched and showed the longer gill-slits on his ribs before he turned to face you.

_Enjoyin yourself?_

You held tightly to your mug of tea, opening and closing your mouth rapidly in the event to defend yourself as he stepped closer.

He used two fingers to tilt your face up, and smiled that predator’s grin that simultaneously terrified you and tied a knot in your stomach…

And then he walked away.

You glared at his back and bit your lip.


	2. Eridan Ampora

He’s always been way too wiry; you kind of just want to scoop him up and coddle him. Of course… He could probably snap your forearm.

 

He stretched tall, scratching a mess of dual-colored hair, and you snorted as you watched in the quiet. You toyed with the waves in your hair as your moirail meandered about. Your head tilted.

His chest and shoulders were wide, yet still almost petite. His hips were round; nearly feminine, which explained the cape and scarf. You giggled again, shaking your head at his vanity, couldn’t stand to have girlish hips could he?

But you admitted you were envious of his legs, just a little. The long limbs, with slim ankles, seemed graceful like a dancer’s.

Of course, you’ve seen him trip on land more than enough times to know that looks could be deceiving.

Your eyes go back to his shoulders. You had to admit; the boy had collarbones. Unfair ones. You frowned slightly, hoping that he didn’t notice your wandering eyes. He tilted his head, stretching his neck, and your eyebrows raised slightly.

You’d give the line Ampora one thing; they could make some pretty boys.

A sudden wash of hyperprotective emotion washed over you at the thought that one day someone might kiss those collarbones. You blinked it away. His neck sloped too gracefully into his shoulders, you decided. the small lines of gills fit too perfectly in the sketch that was his neck. Suddenly you noticed him waving a hand.

"Huh?"

"Wwhatcha lookin at fef?"

"Nothin’.", you giggle again, swaying over to him and draping arms around his shoulders, "I just wanna hug, Eridan!"

He laughed, a soft, subdued sound in his chest, and he held you back, lifting you slightly and swaying you a little. You squeaked a bit, hugging tighter and laughing against those collarbones. He was strong, given how slight he looked. Wiry muscle, from battle, from swimming, from living.

Another flash of overprotective feelings.

"Get dressed, silly."

"Then lemme go."

You perched off to the side, watching the graceful bend and sway of his body as he pulled on clothing. You saw the soft shimmer of pale white scars over his sides and back. The fin along his spine twitched and fluttered softly, spines flexible for now. The soft tilt of one leg, he’d been favoring it after a hard fall three days ago.

Your moirail, weird as it felt to say, was beautiful. In a strange, androgynous way, in opposition to your blaringly feminine appearance, Eridan was beautiful.

Your hands were suddenly pale-knuckled in a fierce grip.

You would obliterate anything that would change this. His eyes caught yours before you could wipe the emotion from them, and he smiled slowly; sharkish teeth flashing.

He felt the same way.


	3. Orphaner Dualscar

He slept sprawled out in his quarters more often than not; almost as an invitation for someone to make an attempt on his life. And every time he awoke, he’d twitch his fins before forcing his eyes open. The double scars over his face, often making his head ache in too-cold weather, did not move with the shape of his face; they were remnants of an injury that sliced muscle and chipped bone, not just slit flesh.

For a while, when younger, he had covered them up; but soon realized they were more useful if he would simply accept them.

He rose from his bed, yawning wide. He scratched at a head of still damp-from-bathing hair, and frowned when he realized he’d only been asleep for two or so hours. He rose, pants slung low on his hips and torso bare, and quietly walked towards the door.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to walk the deck openly like this when he couldn’t sleep; his crew had simply accepted it as the quirk of an eccentric Captain.

Many, he had heard, were comforted by the idea.

He stood at the railing a moment before reaching up for the rigging; climbing the tangle of ropes with ease to the cross-spar. He hauled himself up onto it, perching happily like a seagull.

He stretched again, scars of varying shapes and lengths standing out pale against his grey skin; some raised slightly; a story written in white ink and battle-braille to describe the quiet Captain.

Dualscar peered around, clearing his throat once and listening.

Silence.

Then, the sound of shuffling, and the strike of a match.

He didn’t like admitting his crutches; having foregone liqour and greed and many other vices (save women; he’d never deny himself that) and he didn’t remember how he’d found this stupid habit but…

He exhaled smoke.

It could always be worse.

He glanced at the dark thing between his fingers. He figured it was in noble circles, where ill-begotten hazards ran rampant as the norm. He shook his head, keeping a weather eye out for any early-rising crew.

His bare feet pointed down from this dizzying height, which he admired blankly. Slightly ragged and pierced earfins twitched regularly in contentment as portlights glimmered in the distance.

A small black smear where a burnt cherry was ground out, and a hand was wound into rigging ropes again. Clambering down was always more tricky than climbing up; but he had been doing it so very long it was a second nature.

He retreated to his quarters, his steps quick and quiet. His door didn’t creak as it shut, and he sat heavily in the chair by his desk, propping his feet up amongst maps and letters that held no merit until the ship awoke.

He drowsed for a few minutes, before finally falling truly asleep. Thick dark hair hung forward as he breathed, broad chest moving lightly as he did. The wiry muscles in his arms were relaxed, his fingers twitched.

The sleeping captain, shirtless, beltless, and relaxed, was the sight that greeted the young galley-wench when she brought his breakfast.

"C-Cap- oh, uhm-"

He jerked away with a grumble, “Hm..? Ah, there ya are. Come in, don’t let the draft and the daftness in now.”

She blushed brightly at his grin, staying only moments before leaving his meal and bustling away after he kissed her hand.

Dualscar had a grand laugh at that; a welcome change from his thoughtful and sleepless hours earlier.


End file.
